Lost trumpet

6o THE LOST TRUMPET
must understand that we’re going out to a place that
is practically a desert, so there will have to be certain
restrictions—even. I’m mighty sorry to say, on your
activities as a musician.”
The little Greek stiffened absurdly. Huebsch
nodded, ponderously.
“Now, I’m not like the manager of the Avallaire.
I don’t resent music. It’s just that I know nothing
about it. To be frank, Georgios, I’m so ignorant
in the matter that I would probably know no differ¬
ence between a boy tootling on a tin whistle and the
exquisite sounds which I don’t doubt you produce
on your bugle.”
The haughtiness was smoothed away from
Georgios’ face. He nodded commiseratingly.
“I understand, M’sieu’. There are such men—
and it is no fault of theirs.”
“Exactly. Now, I can’t answer for Colonel Saloney,
but my colleague here is exactly the same. Com¬
pletely unmusical. So, when we go to our camp at
Abu Zabal, and you find the time and inclination to
practise your art, you understand that it’ll have to
be done at some distance from the camp. Both in
our interests and in yours. We’d have no appre¬
ciation and would merely be distracted from our
researches ; while you yourself, if you practised in
our vicinity, would be constantly vexed by the
thought that you were wasting your genius on ears
both dull and indifferent.”
Georgios saw that. “M’sieu’, I thank you, and
will certainly comply with that condition. M’sieu’